


All of the Reasons Why

by independentalto



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-25
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-27 00:59:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2672969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/independentalto/pseuds/independentalto
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of COURSE Fury would come up with a list of things the Avengers shouldn't do. And who would they be if they didn't do them? Everything that can and will happens. They snark. They drink. They...have object wars? One shots in no chronological order. Romanogers, Clintasha, Stucky...I play with everything. But Pepperony. Always Pepperony.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paintball Wars on the Helicarrier

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! So the relationships vary between each chapter, sometimes they can be Romanogers, sometimes Clintasha, sometimes Stony...but everyone can also be single. Pepperony will always exist, though. Always, always, always. :) Anyways, hope you enjoy!

"I thought you said this that was definite?" Clint demanded.

"It is, but we have to capture surveillance before we can move in," Coulson explained. "It's going to take at least 24 hours before we can assert this threat, much less send in the Avengers,"

"So we're going to do nothing on this plane for a day?" Tony moaned.

"Or more," Coulson answered, walking out of the debriefing room.

"Well, this is just great," Clint moaned as soon as Coulson had walked out the door. "I could've been on a date,"

"You're not the only one," Steve and Natasha muttered simultaneously.

"What were you two going to do?" Tony snorted. "Go look at more still-life paintings?" The pair exchanged glances. He actually hadn't been that far off. Not that Tony had to know, of course.

"Personally, I'd rather shoot paint than look at it," Clint moaned, his head hitting the table.

"Paint...shooting...that's it! Barton, you're a genius!" Tony exclaimed.

Natasha snorted. "Well, that's news,"

"Do tell, Friend Stark," Thor enthused. "What is your concept for easing us out of this boredom?"

"No more Wipeout courses," Bruce warned. "Remember what happened last time?" There was a collective wince at the thought. Tony hadn't been able to move for a week.

"Nah, this is less painful," Tony shrugged. "Paintball wars!" Clint and Natasha let out a cheer, Bruce pinched the bridge of his nose, while Steve and Thor just looked confused.

"How is that any less painful, Tony?" Bruce asked, pained.

"Well--paintball--it's paintball. Better than hitting the floor from twenty feet up!" Tony gesticulated. Bruce cocked his head in a 'touché' gesture, and Tony lept up. "Give me an hour, tops," he addressed the other Avengers. "Then, the war is on!" He then ran out, leaving a confused Steve and Thor in his wake.

 "...someone want to explain to me what paintball is?" Steve asked confusedly. Bruce turned to him.

 "Well, it's pretty much war. With paint bullets that aren't fatal,"

 "Ah, a contest of strategy!" Thor exclaimed. "I am most accustomed to these. They occur quite often on Asgard!"

 "Exactly," Clint agreed gleefully. "But if you're up against two assassins, Iron Man, and super soldier, don't expect to win do easily,"

 "Is that a challenge, Friend Barton?" Thor queried forcefully.

 "Why, Thor, I believe it is!"

* * *

"Okay, Avengers, here's the rules," Tony was strutting like a proud kid on his birthday.

"Ten points if you hit a recruit. Lose five if you hit someone that's already been hit. There are exactly 564 people on this thing--I made Brucie keep track. Fifteen points if you hit a new wall. Fifty points for Fury, forty for Hill, and thirty for Coulson. If someone hits you for the first time, that's sixty points, then forty,  twenty, and nothing if you're last." He paused. "Any questions?"

 Silence.

 "Excellent," Tony distributed the weapons. "Everyone on this flying death trap has been instructed not to shower--and I've disabled them, just in case."

 "I will be in an undisclosed location, recording stats," Bruce announced. "Don't try to shoot me or you will be dead faster than you can say 'Hulk'."

 "That being said, pick your starting points," Tony grimly announced. "You've all got ten minutes,"

 "Wait!" Clint yelled before everyone dispersed. "I have a bet with the Asgardian god. I'm so acing this war. Anyone in?"

 "I'll put fifty on Legolas," Tony wagered. "There's no way Point Break's pulling one over him."

 "Same," Bruce agreed. "Sorry, Thor, but this is Clint we're talking about here. You don't stand a chance,"

 "I think Thor could top the archer," Steve announced. "I'll put fifty on him,"

 "Whatever floats your boat, Cap," Clint shrugged. "I'm still gonna win,"

* * *

 Thor was hidden at the entrance to the Helicarrier cafeteria. Surely Midguardians needed sustenance, he reasoned, and what better place to retrieve it? Also, if time permitted, perhaps he could get some Pop-Tarts before continuing with his mission.

 "Fall to the power of paint!" Thor lept into the cafeteria brandishing his weapon. Recruits dived for cover as he fired royal purple paintballs everywhere, screaming as they were targeted.

 Soon purple paint was everywhere, and not a single sound could be heard from the cafeteria's inhabitants. Thor, satisfied, sauntered over to the kitchen and grabbing a box of Pop-Tarts. Shooting paintballs was enough to make anyone hungry.

 The silence was quickly broken by a ferocious Clint swinging in from the vents. "Die, agents, die!" He was so intent on scoring hits that he didn't notice that Thor had already covered the room. Nevertheless, he still scored a few hits--some Thor had not targeted, and the walls, which had been completely neglected. Cackling to himself, Clint swung back into the vents. Thor was seriously going to regret making that bet.

 Still munching on his Pop-Tarts, Thor strolled out of the kitchen, the sight mildly astonishing him. SHIELD agents were cowering under tables, as he'd left them, but instead of his purple paint, they were covered in...black? Surely he'd had the right color!

 "What sorcery hath changed the color of the paint I have covered you with?" he demanded.

 "N-n-none, P-p-prince Odinson, sir," an agent stammered. "It w-was Agent B-b-Barton, sir,"

 "Ah." Thor's face darkened. "Barton shall pay for this."

 And with that, he stalked out of the room, leaving several agents to fear for their safety.

* * *

As he crouched in the vents, Clint couldn't help giggling to himself. Not even ten minutes in he'd scored 500 points, tops. Thor was so screwed. Now. On to the next heavily populated area-the weapons room. Not only would there be lots of agents, one of the big winners was sure to be there. Maybe Fury, although it wasn't as likely as Hill or possibly Coulson--

 SPLAT.

 A paintball whizzed past his head, making him jerk back. Who the hell would know he was in the vents?

 His answer was provided when another paintball came at him, hitting squarely in the knee. Clint's reflexes kicked in and his knee shot out from beneath him, landing him on his ass with a solid THUMP. "Damn it!" he whined. "I've been hit!" Then considered his current predicament. "And been knocked flat on my ass,"

 The only response was a sultry chuckle as the assailant slipped away. Clint glanced down at his knee, where there was definitely going to be a bruise in the coming days.

 Red paint. Instantly, Clint's mind connected piece after piece of information. Thor was purple. Besides, the Asgardian prince was entirely too clumsy to get into the vents. Steve would've at least been more polite about it--but his was blue. Tony would've said a monologue complete with fireworks and orchestra. Which only left one person. Which, really, should've been Clint's assumption in the first place, given that she was the only one to even possess the ability to get into the vents.

 Natasha was going down.

* * *

 Lunch break, Steve mused. Of course Tony would start a paintball war during lunch break. It was the perfect time to pick a spot and strategize. Knowing Clint, he would be in the rafters somewhere-Steve made a mental note to look up every now and then, lest he get blasted with black paint. Tony would be in the lab-it was his comfort zone. Most likely, he'd provide some intellect to the scientists there before shooting them. Which only left Thor and Natasha to watch out for. The former because he simply had no strategy, the latter because she was deadly, unpredictable, and extremely accurate. Plus, she'd threatened him with couch time should he win.

 At this moment, he was crouched under a table, waiting for the majority of agents to file back into the control room. Here, he reasoned, was the best chance to get Fury, or, at the very least, Coulson. Another solid five minutes passed before Steve concluded that, yes, fifty was a decent number, and began firing.

 The effect was instantaneous. Agents dropped like flies, Steve having aimed for the backs of their knees. Some cursed as they tried to identify their assailant. Steve kept his firing intermittent, aiming for inconspicuous places. Anyone else would see only the head or body and assume they weren't hit, Steve figured. It would definitely cost them a lot of points.

 Having incapacitated most of the agents in the area, Steve rolled out from under the table. Most of the agents' eyes went wide at the sight of their beloved Captain America holding a paintball gun. Some assumed he'd gone rogue and went into the fetal position, mumbling about their lives. Feeling sorry instantly, he began firing apologies off to anyone who would listen.

 "Captain Rogers?"

 Coulson's voice cut unexpectedly through the litany of apologies, alarming Steve. Instantly, Coulson was spattered head to toe in blue paint, leaving an entirely embarrassed super soldier and speechless agent.

 "Agent Coulson, I'm so, so, so sorry about that--" Steve began to launch into another apology, but was cut off by Coulson's hand.

 "I'm alright," he said faintly, sinking into a chair. "I. Just. Got shot. By. Captain. America. Holy."

 "I think he's okay," an agent chuckled. "He's good, Captain Rogers,"

 "Oh, alright-" The relief was palpable in Steve's voice.

 "ROMANOFF!!!" Clint's angry voice could be heard in the hallways, and, soon enough, Natasha came racing into the control room, ducking behind a set of machines. Steve quickly ducked, avoiding detection. If he played his cards right, big points would be his.

* * *

 Seeing no paint on any of the agents in the control room, Natasha began firing away, intensely taking down anyone she saw. Not soon after, Clint bounded in, red knee and all, incapacitating any agent not yet hit. His attention was soon refocused on the spy, however, and the two were soon exchanging paintballs.

 It was an exhausting battle to watch. Every time Natasha would shoot, Clint would duck, and vice versa.

 "Just what the hell is going on in-" Maria Hill stalked in, only to catch a faceful of black paint. "BARTON!" she fumed, whirling around to glare at him.

 "FORTY POINTS ARE MINE, BITCHES!" Clint gloated. His victory was short-lived, however, as he was suddenly covered in blue paint. "What-"

 "Not so smart now, are you, Barton-" Natasha's returning gloat was also cut short by a splatter of blue paint. "Rogers," she snarled. "Get out here, now," Her only response was a streak of blond hair as Steve sprinted past her. With a strangled scream, Natasha tore after him. "NO ONE PAINTBALLS ME AND GETS AWAY WITH IT!!!" Clint followed suit, and soon the trio was running through the Helicarrier's hallways. Every now and then, Natasha would attempt to squeeze a shot off at Steve, but he was simply too quick.

 "BARTON!" Thor appeared, wielding his gun and covered in gold paint. Without hesitation, Natasha shot him, earning herself forty points. He resembled Tony's suit more than he did himself, she mused. It was a good look.

 In retaliation, Thor focused his crossfire on her, but one flip and she was at the front of the pack. It was off to the weapons lab, where Tony would most likely be. Hiding, no doubt.

* * *

Tony, in fact, had been hiding in the weapons lab-but he'd fallen asleep. Something about fatigue and over-reliance on caffeine...whatever it was Pepper had mentioned.

Suddenly, the door to the lab opened, and Natasha charged at him with a war cry, striking him repeatedly in the chest with paintballs. A shot each from Steve, Clint and Thor, and the canvas known as Tony's clothes was complete.

 "My clothes," he gasped. Then glanced at his watch. "My Rolex!" He glared dramatically at the other Avengers, who were busy shooting each other. "THIS MEANS WAR!!"

 Grabbing a rolling chair, he pushed off from the wall, firing at everything he passed. Thor and Natasha looked shocked as they were bombarded with red paint, allowing Clint to shoot her with a whoop. Steve also managed to shoot Thor in an impressive 360° spin, before diving under a table to avoid being shot.

 "What are all you motherfuckers doing that has my motherfucking agents covered in motherfucking paint?!" Fury stormed into the room to find each Avenger shooting at each other, with the occasional war cry from Clint or Tony.

 The next few moments happened in an extreme slow motion.

 Tony, who was still blindly firing in revenge for his watch and clothes, let off an impressive three paintballs in a second. All three splattered across Fury in quick succession, turning him from black to gold. Each Avenger went silent and turned to him, sensing the impending storm. The only things that could be heard was the sound of dripping paint.

 Finally, Tony quipped, "Should I pay for dry cleaning, Director Fury?"

* * *

 "Well, there's good news and bad news," Bruce strolled into the meeting room later, where the Avengers had been grumpily corralled for the remainder of their time on the Helicarrier. He was carrying a large stack of papers, which landed on the table with a loud SMACK.

 "Give us the good news first," Tony groaned. He'd received quite the earful from Fury-he wasn't sure if his ears had stopped ringing yet.

 "I've got the winner of the war," Every Avenger perked up at that, sure beyond a doubt that they'd won.

 "Well," Clint stood up and stretched. "I'd like to thank the Academy, SHIELD of course, and the lovely Natasha Romanoff for having my back all these years..."

 "Sit down, Barton," the spy snorted. "Five bucks says your score was massacred,"

 "Barton, you have a total of 25 points," Bruce announced. Clint's jaw dropped to the ground.

 "Pay up," Natasha held out a lazy hand. A five-dollar bill was reluctantly pressed in. "I bet it's only because you hit Hill, you dork,"

 "But-but-" Clint began to get flustered. "In the cafeteria-I shot so many people!"

 "You failed to notice that they had been marked, Friend Barton!" Thor proclaimed joyfully. "I had claim to them first!"

 "Which means, if I remember, I get a hundred dollars," Steve smirked.

 "Thor, you have 420 points. Not bad for fourth place," Bruce announced.

 "These wars of paint are not so unsimilar to the wars of fruit on Asgard," Thor shrugged.

 "Tin Man. Third place. 450 points," Tony sat back and grinned. Shooting Fury and beating Legolas and Point Break? All in all, not a bad day.

 Natasha stood. "I think we can all just accept that I've won this thing, so I'd like to thank SHIELD, obviously-"

 "It's not over until the fat lady sings," Clint mildly scolded. "Sit down, Tash,"

 "Yeah, Tash," Tony mocked. "Sit down," She shot him the bird.

 "Natasha. Second place. 520 points." Bruce sighed, knowing what was to come next.

 "WHAT?!" Natasha's squawk rattled the rafters.

 "So that means-" Tony began.

 "No way-" Clint interrupted.

 "I don't believe-" Thor.

 "How the fuck did he-" Followed by a litany of Russian curses.

 "I won?" Steve exclaimed. Bruce nodded.

 "But HOW?!" Clint spluttered.

 "Well, he shot Natasha, for starters," Bruce shrugged. "That takes skill." Natasha scowled. "He also shot all of the agents in the control room-"

 "No wonder they were all on the ground when we got there," Clint facepalmed.

 "Coulson was shot, too." As if on cue, Coulson ran by, shouting,

 "I GOT PAINTBALLED BY CAPTAIN AMERICA!"

 "The man didn't even shoot Fury," Tony seethed, "and yet he won?”

 "Congrats, Steve," Bruce told the captain. "First place. 750 points,"

 "Great," Clint muttered. "Not only do I get beaten by an old man who wasn't even around when paintballs were invented, said man happens to be my best friend's boyfriend."

 "Anyhow. Bad news." Bruce returned to the subject at hand. "All of this paperwork is yours," Each Avenger slowly turned to the large stack of paperwork, classified into folders with their names on it.

 "Черт," Natasha muttered. Steve just facepalmed.


	2. Tony and Musicals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Despite living in the city of musicals, Tony had really never been to one. And once he's introduced, there's no stopping him.

" _Good morning Neeeeew Yoooorrk_!" Tony's pitchy voice filled the speakers of every room in the tower, causing a) Natasha to sleepily shoot the living crap out of it--even half asleep she was a perfect shot, b) Thor to halfheartedly throw Moljnir at offending object, effectively breaking it, and c) Bruce turning green enough that alarms were sounded, causing Tony to stop singing abruptly.

"I apologize for the...unexpected wake-up call," JARVIS apologized profusely after the performance had ended. "Miss Potts took Master Stark to see "Hairspray" last night, and I'm afraid he's become slightly... overenthusiastic about the performance numbers,"

"I thought hearing Tony singing the shower was scarring enough," Clint moaned, who'd lived through that experience once without any desire to go through it again. "I think my ears have started bleeding,"

"Miss Romanoff, should I arrange to have a new speaker installed in your room?"

"Not until Tony stops singing those goddamn musicals. I knew there was a reason I declined those missions. At least the opera's sort of depressing,"

"Remind me not to take you to Broadway anytime soon," Steve chuckled. She fixed him with a "you'd-better-not" look, and he put his hands up in surrender, giving her a kiss on the head before sliding out of their bed to make some much-needed coffee.

"And you, Agent Barton?"

"Nah, just deactivate 'em unless for an emergency. I don't feel like letting Stark into my room to replace any tech. I'd do the same for Bruce, too."

"Embodied voice of the residence, I wish to have my speakers removed."

"As you wish, Master Odinson."

* * *

 

"What's crack-a-lacking, dudes?" Tony slid into the kitchen wearing nothing on his feet but socks. "Isn't it a great day to be in New York? _Picture me, just another cool kid on the street, near the Park and the Met. Life is sweet, Yankees on the Bronx pretzels on the street, just how good can it get?_ "

"I am so talking to Pepper about this," Bruce grumbled. "The next time she takes Tony to see a musical, it'd better be freaking _Les Mis_ ,"

"Hey, that one's actually kind of depressing," Steve turned to Natasha, who was in the process of perfecting her coffee. "Maybe we could see--"

"No."

"Aw, Capsicle, don't let her get you down! You know what, Pepper and I will take you to one. How 'bout Guys and Dolls? Fame? No, wait, I've got it. Beauty and the Beast. Y'know,  Pep and I can get you the best tickets for any of those, all you have to do is ask--"

"Stark," Steve answered wearily, "I'm not going to see a musical with you,"

"But whyyyyyy?" Tony whined. "There's only us, there's only this, forget regret, or life is yours to miss!"

"Я кастрировать вас," Natasha muttered into her coffee. Clint choked into his, and had to leave the room for fear of cracking a joke that would lead to his death.

"Not even just one, man? I promise I won't sing through it or anything!"

"Are there any musicals you don't know the words to?" Bruce questioned. Clint, having sobered up, returned with his coffee.

"Not that I know of," he answered. "He sang all of them in between last night and this morning." He turned to Tony. "The vents aren't soundproof, man,"

"Miss Romanoff," JARVIS announced, "your new speaker has arrived. Should I direct the men as to where to place it?"

"No need, J. I'm on my way back anyways," Natasha snatched her mug and headed back to her bedroom. "I can just glare at them and they should be able to put it in the right place. Especially if Steve stands there with his shield in the corner,"

"You'd think they'd know to listen to us by now," Steve muttered, following her. "After what happened the last time,"

" _The last time I saw Paris, her heart was warm and gay, I heard the laughter of her heart in every street cafe_ \--wait, Natashalie--my speaker--WHAT?!" The fact that Natasha and Steve were replacing a speaker finally registered in Tony's brain. "What happened to the old one?"

Steve paused. "It'd probably be best if you didn't know,"

"What?" Tony demanded. "What happened? Cap? Cap?! JARVIS, tell me what they did!"

"It appears that Miss Romanoff lodged several bullets into the body this morning, sir,"

"SEVERAL BULLETS?!" Tony shrieked. "HOW COULD YOU, YOU TWO?!"

"You sang, Tony," Clint answered in between gulps of coffee. "Believe it or not, you actually sound like Tasha when you sing."

A knife whizzed over Clint's head out of nowhere. It seems the Black Widow hadn't missed that comment.

* * *

 

Tony's revenge didn't come until a week later.

Steve was out on a mission, leaving Natasha alone in bed. It was only supposed to be a couple of nights, thank goodness, but the loss of his presence was still there. She'd almost fallen asleep when--

" _The hillllls are aliiiiiiiiiiive with the sound of muuuuuuuusic..._ " Natasha's eyes widened as an astonishingly pitchy voice blared through her speakers. He wouldn't do this now. Especially when everyone in the tower knew how she got when Steve was on missions. But apparently, Tony felt like risking his life, for he sang on. " _Doe, a deer, a female deer, ray, a drop of golden suuuunnnnn...._ "

* * *

 

The next morning, Tony found himself in the local hospital, wearing one of his suits and surrounded by kids who happened to be huge fans of Iron Man.

"Stark and charity work?" Coulson smirked as he read the report later that day. "There's got to be a story behind that,"

 

 


	3. Truth Or Dare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You KNOW Nat hates Truth or Dare!"  
> Well, at least she didn't suffer...

“Just one game!” Tony begged the team, who was perched on various couches in the common room. “I promise, it wouldn’t even be that bad!”

“For the last time, Stark. No,” Natasha only looked up from her book long enough to glare at him.

“Come on, Natashalie,” Tony egged, knowing that the name would elicit some sort of response from her. “There’s gotta be some juicy secret you haven’t told us!” Both Steve and Clint raised an eyebrow at that--if there was one thing the spy revered, it was her secrets. Sometimes even feared them. And she would rather complete some ridiculous dare than air them out.

Natasha seemed to know that, too, for she gave Tony a withering glare in the hopes of discouraging him. When he didn’t falter, she sighed, dog-earing her book.

“Fine. Just this time,”

“YES!” Tony turned to high-five Clint, who simply stared at him.

“I do not understand the premise of this game,” Thor announced. “Is this another Midgardian tradition in which I have yet to learn about?”

“It’s not one of the fun ones, I can tell you that,” Natasha sighed, rubbing her temples. She could already feel the migraine coming on.

“Don’t listen to her!” Tony insisted. “She’s a spy! Spies hate games like these,”

“Which is a fact that you should be aware of, Tony,” Steve scolded him. “Have you ever considered why she hates these games?”

“Aww. Cute that you’re stickin’ up for Natashalie, but no.” Tony shrugged. He disappeared into the kitchen, returning with various alcohols and an empty wine bottle.

“Thor, my friend, the first thing you need to know about this game is that alcohol will always be needed to play it,” Clint lectured, reaching for a few cans of beer.

“Yup. Second rule. If Clint needs a certain amount, I’ll usually need double,” Natasha added, reaching for the choice Russian vodka.

Steve sighed. “I’m going to be scarred for life, aren’t I?”

“You won’t be alone,” Bruce agreed. “We’re going to have to remember this forever,”

“I still do not understand,” Thor proclaimed. “What exactly undermines this ‘Truth’ and ‘Dare’?”

“The rules are simple, Point Break,” Tony settled himself onto the floor, the others following suit. “Someone spins the bottle. Whoever it lands on gets asked ‘truth or dare’. Answer accordingly, and then you spin the bottle,”

Thor nodded his assent, and the game began.

* * *

 

**_Clint_ **

Him? Oh, great, him. And he hadn’t even gotten the chance to get properly wasted. Oh, well. Better to slip his secrets now and know what he’d let go rather than wonder just what everyone was laughing at everytime they saw him. But Steve? Did Steve have to spin the bottle, of all people? He was probably going to ask some stupid question about...something old-fashioned, for sure. He mentally prepared himself by swigging his drink, setting it down with a CLUNK.

“Clint. Truth...or Dare?” There was more questioning in the question than there had to be. He sighed.

“Truth.” Besides, how bad could it get?

“What’s the girliest thing you’ve ever done?”

* * *

_**Tony**_ Well, hallelujah and pass the wine! Who would’ve thought the Captain had it in him? He’d almost spit out his drink at the look on Clint’s face--but of course, this was a 1960 Domaine de la Romanee-Conti. Cost him seven grand. No way in hell any of that was going to waste.

Of course, Tony knew exactly what the answer was to Clint’s question. The archer had once embarked on an ‘emotional movie marathon’, with movies such as ‘The Notebook’, ‘E.T.’, ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ and ‘Titanic’. He’d claimed it was the answer to every question about relationships, Clint had locked himself in his room for a week, having his status posted as ‘on a mission’. And okay. Maybe Tony had joined him for one or two movies. But only for ‘The Notebook’ and ‘The Fault In Our Stars’. Just so he could finally understand why Pepper burst into tears whenever he mentioned the name Hazel. No, he certainly had not stayed for ‘Titanic’. And definitely hadn’t cried at it. No, siree.

“SomaybeIwatchedTheNotebook,” Clint muttered. “AndET. AndTheFaultInOurStars. AndmaybeTitanic,”

“I thought you were all muscles and macho, Barton,” Bruce struggled not to laugh.

“I didn’t catch that,” Steve said politely. “You’re going to have to spit it out,” Tony stifled a laugh. If he hadn’t known better, he would’ve sworn Steve was purposely tormenting Barton.

“I watched ‘The Notebook’,” Clint spat out. “And a bunch of girly-cry movies. Okay?” He glared at Bruce and Natasha, who were extremely close to losing it. “Let’s just play,”

* * *

**_Thor_ **

This game was quite the Midgardian tradition, he mused. Insofar, he’d learned that Lady Natasha had once impersonated a horse (Thor hadn’t exactly understood the circumstances,), Friend Stark had eaten a rabbit burger (Steve had had to explain the concept of a burger.), and, of course, Friend Barton’s lapse in manliness. Thor considered that quite weak. If someone on Asgard had done something of the caliber, they would have been exiled quickly.

It was now his turn to spin the bottle. Careful not to exert his strength, the bottle was precariously spun. Ah, Friend Stark! How delightful this would be! “Friend Stark! Truth or dare?” Stark had simply laughed, having consumed one too many alcoholic drinks.

“Dare, of course, Point Break!” Thor was momentarily stunned. “Eh...I have no knowledge on how to do these...dares,”

“Ooh, ooh, I’ll do it for you!” Clint, equally intoxicated, seemed all-too-happy to acquiesce. He dramatically put a finger to his chin, pretending to think. “Stark,” he said finally, “I dare you to film yourself in one of your suits singing Ariana Grande’s ‘Problem’,” He turned to Thor. “You okay with that, good buddy?”

“It is a well-thought out dare, Friend Barton,” Thor mused. “I do not have any recollection unto who this ‘Ariana Grande’ is,”

“Yeah, people talk about her a lot,” Steve added. “Who is she?” Clint chuckled, catching the murderous look on Natasha’s face.

“My advice, don’t look her up when Tasha’s around,” Steve turned to see the look on his girlfriend’s face, then nodded solemnly in agreement.

“I wish I was actually sober to see this,” The spy swore, downing some more vodka.

“I don’t,” Clint swigged another beer. “You only live once,”

Bruce had left, presumably to get a camera.

“Which suit?” Tony mumbled, reaching for the whiskey, Clint having drunk all of the beer.

“You have more than one, Friend Stark?” Thor demanded. The choices on Midgard seemed to be endless!

“Just pick one,” Steve buried his head in his hands.

“Alright,” Tony unsteadily held his arm out for the latest Mark. As the suit assembled around him, Bruce returned with a camcorder. “Someone find me a karaoke track,”

“Done,” Clint announced, fiddling with his phone. He walked over to the speakers in a remarkably straight line for someone so drunk. “In the system and ready to go,”

“Brucie, start the camera,” Tony slurred.

* * *

  _ **Steve**_

He’d thought things were bad when Clint had announced the dare. Even worse when Bruce had showed up with the camera. But noooo----

“Hi. I’m Iron Man!” Tony exclaimed into the camera with a voice that could only be described as a kid’s on sugar. Another facepalm was in order. While beer usually just left an ugly hangover for the billionaire, Steve knew, whiskey jazzed Tony right up and left for an even worse hangover. “Right now, I’m going to cover ‘Problem’. As suggested by Legolas over here,” Bruce panned over to Clint, who spastically waved. “And in 3...2...1...” Clint flipped the switch.

Steve sighed resignedly and reached for a beer. Natasha, taking pity on him, handed her vodka over with a knowing look. After all, if he was going to try to get drunk, might as well do it right...right?

* * *

**_Bruce_ **

If he hadn’t been holding the camera, he would’ve liked to have been somewhere very, very, very far away at this point. Tony was belting out all of the notes in a grand falsetto, with the occasional twerk thrown in. Steve was downing Natasha’s vodka like a champ, although Bruce was sure that it had no effect on him. The woman in question was just lazily watching, her interest flickering between the impromptu video and her boyfriend’s new interest in Russian vodka. Thor, enraptured, was bobbing along with the mutilated tune. Clint was growing more excited by the lyric, and by the end of the second chorus, it was plain to see why:

_Small money bettin’ I’ll be better off without you_

_In no time I’ll be forgettin’ all about you_

_Sayin’ that you know it but I really really doubt you_

_Understand my life is easier without you_

_Iggy Iggy to biggie to be here stressin’_

_I’m thinkin’ I like the thought of you more than I love your presence_

_And the best thing now is probably for you to exit_

_I let you go Let you back I finally learned my lesson_

_Ain’t half steppin either you want it or you just playin’_

_I’m listenin’ to you can’t believe the words that you’re saying_

_There’s a million yous baby boo so don’t be dumb_

_I got ninety-nine problems but you won’t be one_

Surprisingly enough, Tony rapped every single lyric on beat. Clint’s mouth had fallen open, but had closed again when Tony had gone for the high notes. When he’d finished, he’d done a large, theatrical bow. “Subscribe!” With a wink and a point to the camera. Bruce turned the camera off. Oh, if only he could get drunk...

* * *

**_Natasha_ **

So far, so good. She hadn’t let slip any huge secrets (like how she’d totally fangirled over Steve before they’d been dating. Or that she spent her spare time baking. Clint and Tony would never let her hear the end of it. Who did they think made those awesome cupcakes, anyways? Pepper?). She’d chosen to do the dares instead, opting for some of the more risque ones. (Clint had tried to make her rap “Fancy” by Iggy Azalea, but one look and he’d succumbed, handing her a ukulele instead and daring her to sing “The Moon Song”. She’d happily obliged to that one, causing Steve to blush and bury his head in his hands.) But everything threatened to crash down right down on her with this spin of the bottle. The bottle spun dangerously close to her, but, in a last second of recognizance, spun to Tony.

“Stark,” Clint rubbed his hands in glee. “Truth or Dare?”

“Gimme a dare!” Tony exclaimed. Clint spared a glance to Natasha, who just scowled. This wasn’t going to turn out well, was it?

“Stark, I dare you to drink Tasha’s vodka. All of it,” To illustrate her protest, Natasha rasied her bottle and began drinking as quickly as possible, hangover in the morning be damned. No one, and she meant no one (with the exception of Steve. But then again, when was he not her exception?) was going to drink her vodka. Not unless they wanted to die. Tony, eager to complete the dare and blissfully unaware of her murderous intentions, drunkenly swiped the bottle out of her hand and drained what was left. Then, for good measure, stole the bottle she’d handed Steve and quaffed that as well.

There was a few tense beats of silence. Natasha sat in semi-shock, hardly believing what Tony had just done. He was so going to regret this in the morning. Tony, unaware of the impending situation, simply kept drinking. Finally, she spoke in an incredibly calm voice that even had Steve scooching away. She’d make it up to him later, she decided.

“Bruce,”

“Yes?” he echoed. “You may or may not want to film the last minutes of Stark’s life,”

Slowly, Bruce held up a camera and began recording.

* * *

The next morning, Tony woke up in his bedroom with a hangover the size of Asgard, and a _very_ irate Pepper Potts.

“You have three bruised ribs, a laceration on your forehead, a twisted ankle, and a busted elbow,” she rapidly snapped. “Mind telling me what happened?”

Tony searched for some sort of recollection, something, anything, that would tell him what happened the night before. Nothing came up.

“Ah. Good, Tony. You’re awake,” Bruce strolled him, looking fresh, chipper, and not the slightest bit hungover. At the look on Tony’s face, he smirked. “Pepper told you, huh?”

“What happened, Brucie?” Tony rasped, then winced at the sound of his own voice.

“What always happens,” he deadpanned. “You got wasted, let loose way too much information, and pissed off Natasha,”

“Again?” Pepper demanded. Comprehension then dawned on her face. “How many times have I told you guys not to play Truth or Dare? You know Nat hates Truth or Dare!”

* * *

At SHIELD headquarters, as a drunk Iron Man danced across the screen singing Ariana Grande, Phil Coulson asked himself the same question before heading to get the appropriate paperwork for these types of situations.


	4. Harry Potter Roles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never, ever, EVER trust Loki with Harry Potter.

Clint's POV

He was so going to hell for this. 

Clad in tattered robes, a cane strapped to his back, and a strap-on monocle attached to his face, he crawled along the vents of Avengers Tower, dead bent on pulling off the greatest role play prank over. Finally, he reached the designated vent. Stealthily lifting the cover off (after all, he did inhabit the vents for a reason,) and placing it next to him, he now had a bird's eye view--no pun intended--of the sleeping quarters of the tower's resident soldier and spy.

They looked so much cuter when they were sleeping, didn't they? Mentally berating himself for that sentimental thought--he could leave those for Thor and his Pop-Tarts--Clint lowered his Stark-issued megaphone into the room. Silently clearing his throat. This was it. The next minute and a half would determine his life. Okay, maybe it wasn't that serious--who was he kidding? He was about to piss off Natasha, for heaven's sake. The Black Widow. The world's greatest assassin. Oh, was he screwed.

Yup, the next ninety seconds would definitely determine whether he lived or not. He was totally going to hell for this. Oh, well. At least he would go out laughing. 

"If I die," he silently whispered, "Bobbi gets everything,"

Natasha's POV

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!"

Instantly, she was up and at the ready, pistol already firing at the vents. Between each bullet she could hear the faint "Oh shit, oh shit, shitshitshitshit...." She stopped firing and squinted. Then, in a split decision, fired off once more, and Clint fell to the floor of her bedroom, in robes, cane, and a weird eye thing. 

"Barton," The surname was pronounced quietly but threateningly enough to make anyone quake in their boots. "What. The. Hell." 

"Ah, Ms. Weasley," Clint, always unabashed, stood up and dusted himself off. "Can't say I didn't expect this," 

She'd refocused her gun on him again. "Who the hell is--" 

"STARRRRK!!"

Steve came tearing into the bedroom, completely unaware of the stares he was getting from the archer and spy. She said nothing, only raised an eyebrow as the great Captain America barreled into the bathroom. One could only hope he didn't look where he wasn't supposed to.

"Potter!" Clint called to the now livid man in the bathroom. "You and Weasley, eh?" Slowly, Steve emerged from the bathroom, and it was only then that she got a good look at him. He was still handsome as ever, but this time in a...different way. Instead of his trademark blond, Steve's hair was now a jet-black color, rumpled and refusing to stay down. She squinted. Was that a scar on his forehead?

"Anyways, you two, let me know when you plan your engagement," Clint was blabbering. "Best that I start planning my retirement at that point, who knows what could happen with the spawn of a Weasley and a Potter--" He was cut off by the voice of an irate billionaire a few floors up. 

"BARTON! WHY IS MY HAIR RED?"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I feel it is wise to wonder of my appearance," Thor commented, later in the communal kitchen. "Why is it that I sport a long, scraggly beard that encompasses my head, and seem to be twice my height? Also, what is with this umbrella?"

"Your wand got snapped in half when you were in your third year," Clint answered matter-of-factly, pouring himself another cup of coffee. "All of your magic is in your umbrella. Not that you can do much, anyways,"

Tony hadn't said anything since they'd all met each other in the kitchen. It was assumed he was still getting over the shock of his hair being akin to that of a carrot's. The occasional sob emerged every now and again, but most of the time he was left alone. 

"Oh get over it, Weasley," Clint rolled his eyes. "It's just your stupid--"

Natasha had plunked down her coffee mug faster than you could say 'spilled'. "I am so not--"

"Nah. You two aren't bonded in holy matrimony," Clint dismissed her with a wave of his hand. "Weren't you listening earlier?"

"I was deciding whether or not to kill you," she moodily mumbled, picking up her coffee to inhale once again.

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!" 

An angry Pepper Potts stalked into the kitchen, bushy brown hair close to crackling. Thor let out a small snort of laughter, quickly reigning it in at her glare. "If this is another one of your so-called pranks, Tony, then I swear--"

"Pep. Not now," Tony half-wailed. "My hangover hurts, my coffee sucks, and my hair. Is. RED!" All of this was uttered with Tony's head still half-buried in his arms at the kitchen island.

"Huh. So it wasn't you," She raised an eyebrow towards Steve's black hair and scar, Natasha's now long and straight (but still red) tresses, Clint's bizarre getup, and lastly, Thor's beard. There was quite the possibility of insects in it.

There was a small recoil from the beard. It really did smell.

"Hey, wait a minute. Where's--?" Steve was cut off by a multitude of chirps. Each Avenger fished out their phone, Tony with some reluctance, and proceeded to read the following email (albeit with some difficulty from Steve and Thor).

Avengers:

Myself and Agents Hill and Coulson would like to know the meaning of this immediately. 

Director Fury

Attached were three pictures: one each of Fury, Hill, and Coulson. Each hero's eyes went wide as they tried to process what they were seeing. Fury looked more African than anything, regal and proud, and utterly peculiar with his eye patch, which had once looked familiar. Coulson hadn't looked much different, only more blonde, and his features schooled into a more innocent visage. Clint burst out laughing as he saw that Coulson had been holding a camera. 

"Looks like Coulson's even more of a fanboy now," Tony sniggered, having forgotten about his horribly red hair.

"At least his hair still gets to be normal," Pepper muttered, then reconsidered her statement. "Or. At least he had hair." That seemed to set Tony off, for he buried his head in his hands again.

But Thor couldn't stop staring at his phone. 

"Thor?" Pepper asked tentatively. "Is everything alright?" 

"L-la-lady Hill," Thor stammered. "It appears she's gone quite mad!" Everyone else referenced the email to see what he was talking about. Surely enough, there was Hill, only she looked completely... old. Her hair was still in its trademark severe bun, only with hints of gray. Wrinkles and facial marks were present in the plenty. Moles, freckles... anything. And she did not look happy. 

"Kingsley, McGonagall, and Colin Creevey, " Clint chuckled under his breath. "And may I say that all worked out perfectly, " 

"You'll be next, Mudbloods!" They all spun around to find...a blonde Loki? 

"AHHHHH! IT BURNS!" Tony faked- cried, cringing. 

"Oh, please, Weasley," Loki retorted. "Have you even looked in the mirror lately? Oh, wait, I forgot, your family doesn't own one,"

"...Weasley...?" Pepper echoed, looking back and forth between Natasha and Tony. The redheaded spy in question chugged more coffee in response, as if denying the connection. 

"So." Bruce's voice was tinged with a slight amount of amusement as he walked into the kitchen. "I gotta say, Clint, you really hit the nail on the head with this one. Who'd you get to help you, Loki?"

"Loki?" the man in question snarled. "My name is Draco Malfoy, you filthy half-breed. My father will hear about this!" And with that, he stopped from the kitchen, muttering curses like "half-breed" and "Damn Mad-Eye". 

"I'll take that as a yes," Bruce smirked, reaching for a mug. Surveying the various Avengers, his smirk grew into a chuckle. "Even got our ships, huh?" 

"Please don't tell me--" Natasha's voice was sarcastically desperate. Bruce looked between her and Tony, then to Steve, and shook his head. She sighed in relief, and continued to guzzle her coffee as if nothing had happened. Without a word, Steve slid his mug over to her, which she picked up and began to down.

"Potter and Weasley, check." He nodded towards Steve and Natasha. "Weasley and Granger, check. Vain Weasley and smart Granger, double check. Granger having to put up with Weasley, triple check,"

"Hey!" Tony muffled. 

"It's true," Bruce shrugged. "Coulson as fanboy, excellent and accurate choice. Fury as Kingsley. Kingsley's still cooler."

"Hell hath nothing like Fury scorned," Clint joked, earning an eye roll from Pepper.

"And Hill as McGonagall? Rather fitting...Thor, my friend, you are accurate on so many levels I don't even know where to begin,"

"How 'bout by telling us what the hell is going on, and WHY MY HAIR IS RED?!" Tony yelped. 

"...and why Thor has a beard the length of Midgard, why Clint's dressed like a hobo, and why my hair is bushy," Pepper threatened. Evidently, she hadn't taken it well, either. She was just better at hiding it than Tony. 

"I'm Mad-Eye Moody," Clint defended. "I'm supposed to look ragged. It's part of my attire,"

"Hate to break it to you, but you don't look too great yourself, Bruce," Natasha answered nonchalantly. 

"Course not," Bruce shrugged. "I'm a werewolf. And a member of the Order,"

"What the hell is the Order?" Tony demanded. "And why. Is. My. Hair. Red?!" 

"Seriously? None of you have ever read Harry Potter?" Bruce asked in disbelief. 

Several blank stares.

And so that was how, a week later, each Avenger woke up with a locked door and a complete box set of Harry Potter. Clint and Bruce were determined not to let anyone out until they'd finished the entire series, and had formulated some sort of opinion.


	5. Practice Target Dummies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't ever let Clint teach anyone archery. Especially Natasha.

"Jesus, Tash.  You really can't shoot  for shit, can you?"

Natasha looked up to see Clint hanging out of a vent, watching interestedly as she finagled with a bow and arrow. Her previous shots were scattered all over the training room, some sticking out of various targets, the sparring mats, and the lone flyer embedded in Steve's punching bag, its beans slowly spilling out.

"And yet you continued to ask me why I preferred .22s," she stated flatly.

"Because I didn't think the infamous Black Widow was actually _bad_ at something," he teased back. A knife was thrown up at the vent with deadly accuracy, missing Clint's head by an inch.

"There's a lot you don't know about me," she passively remarked, with the slightest undertones of a threat that made Clint bite back his next remark.

Instead, he dropped out of the vent. "Here. I'll help you." Picking up his own practice bow from a corner of the room, he came to stand next to her. "Take your stance." She immediately complied, notching an arrow into the bow, feet apart and ready.

Clint spied the problem immediately. "You're too tense," he instructed. "Tilt the bow to the right a bit so that the arrows won't fall." He notched his own arrow in example. When the completely clueless spy (how often did that happen?) dropped another arrow in tilting the bow too far, he put his arms around her in an effort to fix that. "Just _slightly_ to the right...there." Noticing that her grip was off, he covered her hand in his to adjust that as well. "You only need two fingers on the string, Tash. Yup. There we go. Now, pull back-gently!-"

"We teaching the way of the bow and arrow, Legolas?" Tony appeared at the door of the room, supposedly on a reprieve from his lab. He waggled his eyebrows at the pair's compromising position. The implication was so obvious it would've taken someone as innocent as Steve to miss it.

"Shut it, Stark," Natasha growled, and Tony put his hands up in surrender, laughing.

"Alright, alright!" he exclaimed, then winked at Clint. "But just let me know if we're having baby assassins running around anytime soon." He ducked as Natasha whirled around to fire at him, her shot going way over his head and embedding itself in the doorway.

"Clint, how many times have I told you not to shoot at Tony--oh. Ma'am," Steve stopped short at the entrance to the training room and blushed at the sight of Clint and Natasha together. "Am-am I interrupting something?"

"No," Natasha grumbled, lowering her bow. "Clint's just teaching me to shoot,"

"And man, I'm telling you, she's so bad at it that even--" Clint's laugh was cut off as another arrow was point at him, this time without any doubt that Natasha would score a hit.

"Couch time, Barton," was all she said. "Couch time," Clint swallowed audibly.

"Oookay," Steve announced. "I'm just going to back out slowly and pretend none of this ever happened..." He was doing just that when he caught sight of the shot punching bag. He froze. _"My punching bag!"_

Clint winced. "Yeah, Cap...sorry 'bout that..." Steve left the room, palpably distressed.

"And now that we've managed to scar our good captain for life, let's go back to the lesson," Natasha brought up another arrow, squinting at the target. "Don't squint at the target, Tash. It throws off your perception of the target,"

"But I always squint when I shoot!" she whined.

"Who's the archer here?"

She huffed in defeat. "You are,"

"Exactly. Open your eyes, babe," Clint shot her a cheeky grin, knowing she hated the nickname. "Relax..." He placed his hands on her shoulders,  feeling them relax instantly. "Deep breath, and...shoot."

The arrow landed right in the target's center, much to their surprise as well as Thor's, who had entered.

"Lady Romanoff!" he exclaimed. "I did not know you possessed knowledge of the bow and arrow!"

"I didn't," she admitted. "Clint just taught me,"

"Friend Barton!" Thor enthusiastically turned to him. "Perhaps you are able to instruct me as well?" Clint paled at that--he really had no desire to get up close and personal with Thor--and archery required a _lot_ of close instruction.

Natasha chuckled. "I'm not sure he could handle it, Thor," she offered. "Why don't I teach you instead?"

Clint's face grew even paler, lightening to almost white. "Just-just don't break the practice arrows,"

"Clint can help us, can't he?" she challenged the archer, turning towards him with a wicked glint in her green eyes. "He'll show me where I'm going wrong, _won't you, Clint?_ " With the look on his girlfriend's face and Thor's puppy dog look, Clint had no choice but to give in.

"Fine," he announced, then turned no Natasha. "But I am not touching him...under any circumstances,"

* * *

An hour later, Thor and Natasha were shooting almost as accurately as--dare they say it--Clint.

"I think it's time to up this to the next level, Thor," Natasha said, neatly sending an arrow into the center of a target as Clint looked on in horror.

"I agree, Lady Romanoff," Thor answered, shooting another arrow into his designated target. "I propose some type of contest,"

"Plungers," Clint muttered faintly. It was the first word he'd uttered since the spy and god had completely devastated his reputation as an archer. "Whoever hits the most teammates in an hour wins." Natasha and Thor looked at each other and shrugged.

"Fine by me," she answered.

"I shall go prepare for this contest!" Thor happily declared, sauntering out of the room. Natasha turned to Clint.

"Any idea on where to get all these plungers?"

"Tony once bought a bunch trying to make a plunger gun," Clint answered dully. "They should be down in storage,"

"Aw, is somebunny upset that I destroyed their weputation?" she mocked, jumping onto his back. "'Cause you know, I learned everything I needed to know from my teacher,"

"You're just saying that so I won't bet against you," he smirked.

"Why in the world would you bet against me?" She had an adorable pout, Clint observed. It really was quite a shame he didn't get to see it more often. "You're mine,"

"Not until you say it," he grinned. "Repeat after me: 'Clint, you're my boyfriend.' It's honestly not that hard, Nat."

"In your dreams." She slid off of his back and headed out of the training room. "You're going to regret not supporting me," she warned.

Clint chuckled to himself. "I don't think so,"

* * *

_Sometimes Tony really could be a handful,_ Bruce thought as he headed to the kitchen. The billionaire had recently discovered that his entire stash of plungers had gone missing, prompting a search of the entire tower. The panicked, frantic way Tony was looking would've made one think it was his own kids he was looking for.

The man in question skidded into the kitchen as Bruce calmly poured himself a cup of tea. “Have you seen the plungers, Brucie?”

SQUISH.

A plunger sailed in between the two of them, attaching itself to the kitchen cabinet. Another quickly followed, this time nearly missing Bruce’s mug.

“Huh. Looks like I found them,” Tony mused, walking over to examine them. “Two of ‘em, at least. Which I guess is better than none, I suppose, given that--”

SPLUQSH. The rest of Tony’s sentence was muffled as his face was covered with a black and red plunger. Somewhere, they heard a quiet cheer of “Headshot!”

“I _swear_ I heard Stark start talking and then shut up, just like that--” Clint came into the kitchen, stopping at the plunger protruding from Tony’s face. “Guess it’s started, then,”

“ _What’s_ started, Barton?” Tony had managed to pull the plunger off with a large squelch, although leaving a large red circle on his face. “And why are my children--I mean plungers--involved?”

Clint was spared an answer as another plunger, this time red and gold, hit him in the back, causing him to double over.

“I have hit Friend Barton!” There was no mistaking Thor’s voice. Where it’d come from remained to be seen. Clint wriggled, trying to dislodge the plunger to no avail. He scowled at Tony.

“Stark, why can’t I get the damn thing off?”

“You must have one of the super grippy ones,” Tony answered dismissively. An _oof_ could be heard as a plunger hit him in the stomach. No matter how much he pulled, the projectile would not come off. “...And it looks like I do too,”

“Why have there been plungers all over the tower?” Steve queried, joining them. “They’re following me everywhere I go,” A plunger flew past his head. “Point made.”

“War,” Clint rolled his eyes. The eye roll was answered with a knocking plunger to the back of his head, red and black in all its glory. “And some of them, according to Stark, don’t come off,”

“War?” Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.

“...so maybe I taught Nat how to shoot a bow,” he defended. “And maybe she taught Thor.”

“There’s a war,” Steve began, “between Thor and Ms. Romanoff based on their _archery_ skills?” He received a plunger to the back of the head. Clint nodded, not trusting his tongue. Natasha could’ve been anywhere. One slip and he would have a plunger to the face. Steve tugged experimentally at the plunger on the back of his head, frowning when it refused to come off. “I’m going to guess yes...are we target practice dummies?”

“15 MINUTES!” Clint hollered into thin air. Instantly, the air was thick with plungers. Red, black and gold were simply blurs as they began to hit various surfaces.

“Well, I’m sure as hell not going to make it easy for them,” Tony, ever the show-off, called a suit to him, while Steve simply nodded and began to expertly dodge the shots. Bruce just shook his head and took cover under the refuge of the kitchen island. The sounds of the repulsors soon filled the air as Tony regretfully blasted his precious plungers to pieces.

Clint, on the other hand, climbed straight up into the vents, where he knew he’d find his girlfriend. _And unlike her, he had no problem applying labels._ He found her crouched at a vent opening, continually shooting plungers every which way. Between the constant squelching of the plungers, Tony’s repulsors, and Thor’s war cries, Natasha never saw him coming.

“MOTHER RUSSIA!”

Natasha, truly and honestly startled, jumped and fell out of the vent with a yelp, knocking the air out of her as she landed on her back. It was the first time she’d ever been scared like that, and the shock on her face was so comical Clint burst out laughing. Add in a plunger hit from Thor, and he was close to falling out of the vent himself.

Now on the floor, Natasha aimed a plunger up at the vents. No one had _ever_ gotten the drop on her. The Red Room had made sure of that. And now she’d been topped by her immature archer boyfriend? Not on her watch. The rubber red and black missile hit Clint right in the face, and he’d fallen out of the vent with a yelp quite similar to hers. In one fluid move, she rolled to the left, leaving Clint to hit the floor, drew an arrow (she’d stolen one from his nest stashes,) and shot Tony in the right butt cheek.

“I’VE BEEN SHOT IN THE ASS!” Tony yelped, sending off a stray repulsor beam. There was instantly a gaping hole in the kitchen wall, which no one paid any attention to. Thor took the opportunity to let off several shots in glee, causing more misguided defense attempts, blasting the couch, shattering a window, and blowing up the kitchen island, exposing a dumbfounded Bruce, mug halfway to his lips.

Natasha looked over at Clint, who was still defeatedly lying on the floor, plunger attached to his face. “Don’t even think about getting into bed tonight, _babe_ ,” she quipped, tweaking the plunger. A muffled groan could be heard in response. “Or for the next week,”

“Ooh, someone’s been sent to the doghouse!” Tony drawled in a falsetto, fending off Thor’s assault.

Natasha simply buried another arrow into his left butt cheek.

“I’VE BEEN DOUBLY SHOT!” he shrieked girlishly, shooting off another beam. The beam went through the shattered window, causing each Avenger to turn in shock as the beam collided with Grand Central Station, the glass windows caving in.

Silence.

Thor was the first to speak. “I believe the victory is mine?” Tony, and Steve looked themselves over. Thor’s red and gold plungers could hardly be seen through the sea of red and black ones.

“I think this one’s Natasha’s, buddy,” Bruce answered just as Steve’s cell phone rang. The god’s shoulders slumped as the soldier fished out the contraption, pressing the TALK button.

“Steve Rogers,”

“Would you care to tell me why the commuters at Grand Central are cowering in fear of the possibility of ANOTHER Chitauri attack?!” Nick Fury’s enraged voice rang out from the speaker.

Wordlessly, Steve handed the phone to Tony.


End file.
